


Lemon Cupcakes With Key Lime Frosting

by quillingyousoftly



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Confessions, Getting Together, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Self-Esteem Issues, Valentine’s Day, a bit of violence, mostly just Brock instinctively reacting to Jack’s morbid sense of humor, some fluff I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillingyousoftly/pseuds/quillingyousoftly
Summary: If Jack were to pick his favorite day in the year, it would be Valentine's Day.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Lemon Cupcakes With Key Lime Frosting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts), [SplinterCell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplinterCell/gifts).



> For my wife-to-be and my Big Daddy who are my endless sources of inspiration. I'm glad to have you both in my life 💗💗💗

If Jack were to pick his favorite day in the year, it would be Valentine's Day.

Jack loved Valentine's Day because that was when Brock, his best friend and boss in one, was beyond irritated with the amount of cards he got from his secret admirers which Jack found amusing. That was also when he got enough free candy to satisfy Jack’s sweet tooth for a week. It was why Jack impatiently (but also discreetly) waited for the Valentine's post to start dropping off gifts. He couldn't wait to see what lame poems and dirty letters were sent to Brock this time and try the goodies he got. 

It was around noon when the door to his tiny office opened, and a guy from Communications walked in. It was always someone else on the Valentine's post duty, but somehow always somebody from Communications. It fit; Jack couldn't imagine anybody from Operations do it. He grinned darkly as he imagined Brock being selected for that duty; it would be the worst day of his life.

"H-hi," the guy said and hastily set something down on Jack's desk. It was a white cardboard box with a 'handle with care' sticker. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Jack watched it curiously. "What's that, C-4?"

"I don't know," the guy said and left in a hurry like he in fact suspected the box contained explosives—which, judging by the size of it, was unlikely.

Jack carefully opened it, revealing a cupcake packed inside another, see-through plastic box. The inside was stained with lime green frosting, and the cupcake itself looked... really fucking ugly. It definitely wasn't made by a skilled hand, which meant it wasn't bought in a store, and that might have been the best thing about it.

That was another reason Jack loved Valentine's Day: for the past three years, he had been actually getting something. He still remembered vividly how baffled he was when receiving something for the first time. It was a single rose and at first; it ended up in his wastebasket—he was simply convinced it was a prank played on him by his teammates. But at the end of the day, no one was laughing about it, and Brock suggested that maybe someone liked him for real. It was hard to believe, but since then, Jack got two cards and now a cupcake. Maybe it _was_ a prank, but it still felt nice to get something while his teammates received tons of gifts. Not that he cared when he hadn't been getting them—he liked the reputation of a mean, unlikable motherfucker he had built for himself, and men like that didn't get valentines from secret admirers.

He unpacked the cupcake and took a picture on his phone before eating it. It tasted much better than it looked; it was lemon with key lime frosting, a little sour but more on the sweet side. He waited another ten minutes with an uncontrollable smile on his face before heaving himself up and going to Brock's office.

Brock’s office was more spacious than Jack’s, with a big desk on one side and a comfy leather couch on the other. Brock made a point to keep it neat, but it wasn’t the case right now. Jack burst out laughing at the sight of Brock's desk whose surface was buried under red and pink envelopes and boxes of chocolates. Brock himself was standing over it, holding a teddy bear and looking like he was analyzing a complicated problem. At the sound of Jack's laughter, he looked up.

"Jack," he said it like he just discovered the solution. Then, he frowned. "I'm glad at least one of us is enjoying themselves."

Grinning like a fool, Jack walked over to the desk and yanked the teddy out of Brock's grasp. "Aw, it's so soft. No wonder you've been groping it." 

"Wha—?" Brock stared at the teddy like it was the first time he saw it. He shook his head. "Whatever."

Jack had already lost interest, dropping the teddy on the floor and opening the nearest envelope. The card inside was rather plain, and Jack didn't pay attention to it; what mattered was the inside. 

"I wanna lick your face," he read out loud, then checked out Brock's face like he wanted to assess if it was at all lickable.

Brock wasn't listening. "Can you not make such a mess?" He circled the desk to pick up the teddy and put it inside his wastebasket, then grabbed random things from his desk and threw them away.

"Hey! Don't waste good chocolate." Jack dropped the card on the floor and bent over to take a familiar brown box out of the bin—they were his favorite. He opened it and stuffed a handful of chocolates into his mouth. "Your stapler," he said with his mouth full, pointing at the basket.

"Screw the stapler! This is a problem!" Brock gestured at his desk. "How is this real? How is this happening every year? How is there even _more_ every year?"

Jack shrugged. "People like you."

And he couldn't blame them, because it was hard not to. Brock was moved to Washington from New York five years ago and thanks to his incredible charisma, he won over his colleagues—subordinates and superiors alike—instantly. Jack didn't usually like people, but Brock smiled at him once— _once_ —and Jack was his. He didn't even quite understand how that happened; one moment they had been just making introductions, the other Jack was ready to follow that man into the fire.

Of course, if all his secret admirers had _really_ liked him, they'd have known not to send him anything, especially not those stupid cards. Jack wouldn't have to take his mind off it afterwards. Not that he minded.

"Are there even this many people in SHIELD?"

Jack scanned the cards on the desk, floor and in the bin. "More. I'm pretty sure neither Fury nor Sitwell sent you one."

Brock sent him a grim look. "You never know."

Jack snorted at that; he didn't expect Brock to make jokes when he was pissed about the very thing that was pissing him off. But then he did a double take and realized Brock was serious.

"I assure you that they didn't," he said, traces of amusement gone from his voice. "As far as I know, they don't take part at all."

His eyes dropped to the basket again, and he grinned. He dragged it over to the nice couch at the far wall of Brock's office and dropped onto it, setting the half-full box beside him.

"Jack—no," Brock said when he realized what Jack was doing. "You were supposed to help me, not torment me."

"What did you expect?" Jack asked, stuffing his face with chocolate and opening another envelope. "I do this every year. _I wanna sit on you, sir.”_ He burst out laughing.

Brock sighed and let Jack read a handful more cards with suffering painted on his face. Jack got bored with them soon enough though. They were either dirty and thirsty or plain and polite. It was like Brock's admirers differentiated between the two approaches each year, wondering why neither worked. 

When he looked up, Brock appeared lost in thought like he completely zoned out. It was probably true, perhaps he was planning the rest of his day, or revenge. Either seemed likely. Jack got up, brushing the remaining envelopes off his lap, and that got Brock's attention.

"I'll get a couple trash bags so we can take care of this mess, how does that sound?" he asked.

Brock let his shoulders slump in relief. "Yeah, that's great. Thanks, Jack."

They were cleaning up the gifts, each with a bag in hand, when Brock spoke again. "Do _you_ take part in this thing?"

Jack let the look he shot him speak of how offensive he found the mere suggestion. Brock shrugged at it.

"Can't blame a guy for being curious."

"I blame you for even having to ask. Why the hell would I? The whole Valentine's post thing is stupid as all hell." Jack gestured at Brock's desk he was cleaning from a pile of pink envelopes. "I can't believe I need to explain it to _you_."

Brock huffed. "You don't." They cleaned in silence for another while before Brock asked again, "So you hate getting those things as much as I do, huh?" He looked up at Jack with a shadow of a smirk. "Did you even get anything by the way?"

"Ouch," Jack deadpanned. "I did, for your information. A cupcake. I think they made it themselves, it was kinda ugly."

Brock didn't answer for a while, probably assessing if Jack was joking. "Well, did you like it at least?" he asked finally, turning back to pick up empty chocolate boxes off the couch.

Jack sighed quietly to himself. Truth was, he did, not only because it was tasty. He liked that he got something, something that was made especially for him. But he couldn't admit it to Brock, he'd think he was a traitor or something.

"I threw it away," he lied.

Brock looked up from tying his trash bag. "What? Why?"

Jack met his eyes with his eyebrows raised. "Someone gifts _me_ a _cupcake_ for _Valentine's_ and I'm supposed to trust it's not poisoned?"

Brock shot him a startled look then shook his head at him. "Jack, only someone from SHIELD could possibly gift you that, and I assure you, not even Westfahl would be stupid enough to poison you in the Trisk where we have medics on hand _and_ the guys from Communications know who brought the cupcake. Whoever did that must have known about your sweet tooth."

"Yeah," Jack sneered. "They assumed I'd eat it right away, so they stuffed it with laxatives." He froze, because that might have been the case and he ate it like a fool... 

But Brock rolled his eyes at him. "You're still convinced this is a prank?"

"It has to be. Otherwise it would mean someone actually liked me, and—well, who in their right mind would?"

"You're right," Brock said, nodding solemnly. "Only a total psycho would find that self-consciousness attractive."

"A psycho that wishes me harm," Jack grumbled under his breath. 

Brock didn't continue the topic, and after Jack tied his trash bag, they left the office to put them in a dumpster at the back of the building. They only took one step before Barton jumped in their way.

"Oh, no..." Brock mumbled, his eyes fixed on an ukulele in Barton's hands. Jack snorted when he saw it.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Commander Rumlow!" Barton exclaimed. "There's a secret agent that has something to tell you..."

He hit the ukulele strings. Various agents passing by paused on their way to look. Brock looked mortified. Jack tried to not piss himself.

"Oh, what should I dooo?" Barton sang to a happy tune. "All I want is just one kiss from a special person like you!"

Barton bowed, and the agents clapped. Brock turned to Jack.

"Kill me."

Without hesitation, Jack closed his hand around Brock's throat. Half a second later, pain exploded in his nose.

"FUCK!" he yelled, covering his nose. When he opened his eyes, he saw the agents staring at him. "I mean... owie."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Brock was already pulling Jack’s hands away from his nose to look it over.

"You ordered me to kill you, sir."

Brock glared at him. "Do you always have to show off in front of an audience?" he hissed and yanked the trash bag out of Jack's grasp. "I'm gonna throw these away, go be useful somewhere else."

Jack gingerly touched his nose. The skin felt hot, but the bone wasn't broken.

"That's not what I'm doing," he grumbled to Brock's back.

*

The day got better and better. Jack got three boxes of chocolates in his stomach and another six to go, his nose stopped throbbing, and Brock got another singing valentine; this time, Barton sang an original interpretation of 'Can't Help Falling in Love'. Brock was so miffed afterwards, he forgot all about Jack's mocking and laughing and agreed to takeout and beer on his couch to some action flick with lots of car races and explosions.

When Jack arrived at Brock's home with takeout though, Brock was at the stove, having something bubble and sizzle in two pots and one pan.

"Jeez, you're having someone else over?" Jack put two large pizza boxes on a counter. 

"Cooking is how I cope with stress." Brock scowled at the pots. "As you can imagine, there's no space in my freezer for this."

"My freezer is empty," Jack said suggestively. "Really, Valentine's is stressing you so much?"

"It's annoying, alright?" Brock stirred something in the larger pot. Jack smelled meat. Stew, perhaps. "I tried everything, but I suspect the multiple complaints I sent went straight to trash." He peeked inside the second pot, then looked around. "Where the hell did I put that ginger?"

"Maybe in the fridge?" Jack reached for the door.

"Wait!" 

Brock's voice was laced with panic, and he jumped to Jack to stop him, but it was too late. Jack swung the door open and saw what Brock didn't want him to.

Right there at the top shelf sat a large dish full of lemon cupcakes with key lime frosting, one uglier than the other. They looked like somebody's first attempt, which they probably were. Jack stared at them for a moment, then closed the fridge. Brock was standing right behind him, but he couldn't hear him breathe.

"So it was you all this time," Jack mused, encouraged by Brock’s apparent discomfort.

Brock cleared his throat. "Yeah." He took a deep breath like he wanted to say something else, but then just exhaled.

Jack nodded curtly. "That's funny. Gotta admit, you almost got me."

"Jack—" Brock started in alarm, but Jack didn't stay to listen. He walked out of the kitchen and to the hall where he left his boots and coat with Brock close on his heels. "Jack!"

"I'm sorry, I just remembered I have an errand to run. Raincheck?" Jack asked, putting his boots on. He knew it was a weak excuse, but he didn't care. He just wanted to get out of there. "Or hell, you can invite the rest of the team with how much food you have. Keep the pizza." He gathered the courage to glance up at Brock who looked as alarmed as he sounded and forced a smile. "Hey, it's fine. It was a funny prank. I just really need to go right now."

If Brock said anything to that, Jack didn't hear. As soon as he had his coat in his hand, he slipped out the door and hurried down the stairs and into his car. While driving, he was so lost in thought, he didn't notice how he got home.

It wasn't that he was mad. He hadn't lied—his commander sending him valentines? It would've been fucking hilarious if Jack wasn't the butt of that joke. He was sure though, one day he'd learn to laugh at it. Right now, it just… it just stung too much.

Because sure, he _knew_ it was a prank... But he didn't expect it to be his only friend's idea. Or perhaps Brock wasn't his friend at all—perhaps it was _all_ a prank, and Jack just fell for it because he was a fucking idiot, just like he was when he let himself hope those stupid gifts were genuine.

He hooked the coat he was still holding in his hand on the hanger, took off his boots and walked further inside his dark, empty apartment. He could hear his neighbors' party through the walls, but there wasn't even a fly buzzing in his own home. He shook his head with a sigh and turned on the TV to let the voices and faces make him feel less lonely. As he bent over to set down the remote, his eyes caught a glimpse of his desk drawer in the bedroom. 

"Fucking idiot," he muttered to himself bitterly and reached it in three swift strides. He yanked it open and pulled out a red cardboard box ornamented in gold. He bought it three years ago, after he had dried his rose between the pages of his copy of ‘Poor Fellow My Country’ and had nowhere to hide it. Since then, two cards had joined it in the box. Jack sighed, opening it and taking them out.

The first card he got was a simple red with words 'Happy Valentine's Day' written across in white italic font. There was nothing handwritten on the back, but Jack hadn't minded. It was a thought that counted, and it was a nice message. He put it away on the desk and picked up the other one.

That one was deep purple and around the writing (again, 'Happy Valentine's Day') hearts and flowers in shades of pink were tastefully arranged. On the back, in a careful calligraphy, it said, _Your smile is the answer to the question that is my life._ Back then, Jack had thought it was a poem from the internet, but now he understood Brock must have come up with that shit himself. He was one of the very few people that ever saw him smiling.

He set the card back down beside the rose and took another look at the prank gifts he had been keeping safe like a treasure. He scowled and for a moment considered burning them, but then he just swept them into a wastebasket beside the desk along with the box. Then, he recovered the beer from the fridge and sat down in front of the TV, ready to forget about all of that.

*

Despite being sort of best friends—or at least as good as each would ever get—Brock and Jack fought a lot, so Jack already knew how the day was going to play out, even if last night, they hadn't actually fought.

Brock was going to come in early to avoid Jack in the locker room while Jack would come late—just enough not to get in trouble—for the same reason. Then they'd avoid each other for the rest of the day, and Jack would leave on time while Brock would stay in late. Then they would continue this dance until one of them broke and casually texted another, or until they were forced to face each other on a mission. It was never pleasant, but oddly comfortable now that he knew exactly what was going to happen.

But when he strolled down the corridor towards STRIKE's locker room fifteen minutes late, he heard Brock's voice through the door. His heart thumping, he stopped at the door, leaning in to listen. Brock had just stopped talking, and Jack heard McKinnon say, "I got more chocolate than I could possibly eat in a year."

Jack's heart sank a little. So that's what were they doing after Valentine's when Jack wasn't around, gloat about all their gifts and how popular they were. Jack set his jaw and considered walking in and cutting it short when he heard Brock's name and remembered why he was lurking outside in the first place.

"Hey, Rumlow, what are your favorites? I could share since Rollins stole all of yours already."

Jack narrowed his eyes. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised the team knew about that, it wasn't a secret after all, but in McKinnon’s lips it sounded pathetic.

Brock chuckled at that, adding insult to injury. "You know those round ones, dark chocolate filled with chocolate nougat and covered in tiny chocolate chips? In that brown box?"

Jack's mouth went slack. Those weren't Brock's favorite chocolates. They were _Jack's_ favorite chocolates. In fact, Brock didn't like chocolate at all and preferred savory snacks. That knowledge came from Jack's own observation and not from something Brock told him, so he was sure it was true. (He would never forget the night when drunk Brock ate a whole bag of chips, then once he sobered up enough to realize what he had done, he almost started crying, stuttering something about a ruined diet plan. It was hilarious.)

A pair of footsteps approached on the other side of the door, so Jack turned on his heel and strode away to the cafeteria to hide in for the next half an hour under the pretense of getting their shitty coffee, all the while wondering why the hell would Brock lie about something so stupid as liking chocolate.

*

The rest of the day passed peacefully with Jack holed up in his office and not getting a sight of Brock or any of his other teammates. It was good; he managed to do some paperwork that was long overdue and avoid another angry email from Sitwell in his inbox.

Still, it was boring without Brock casually dropping by to exchange the latest gossip and inviting him out for lunch, so Jack was glad to return home, even if he didn't have much to do there either. His options were the TV, a book or video games, but neither could keep his interest for long, and soon he found himself staring mindlessly at the black TV screen with a slice of pizza at his mouth. A doorbell startled him, and he got up, thinking it must be the pizza delivery before realizing he had already received it. Frowning at the slice he was still holding, he walked over to the door and answered it without checking who it was first. He wasn't surprised at the sight of Brock behind it.

"J-Jack," Brock blurted. He frowned at his stutter. "Hi."

He looked Jack over who was clad just in a thin pair of boxers and had hot sauce stains on his bare chest.

"Hi," Jack responded stoically if not friendlily and stepped aside to let him in.

Brock did, hesitantly, casting a look around like he expected to find someone on the other side of the hall. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" 

Jack shook his head, moving in to close the door behind him, and Brock huffed and undid his parka. "Jesus, I forgot how high you crank up the heat."

"Yeah," Jack said simply, unsure what else he could say to that. Suddenly, he felt awkward, the memories of their last meeting rushing back and bringing a bitter taste to his mouth. "You wanted something?"

Brock sighed. "Yeah." He turned to face Jack fully, then hesitated. "Uh, sorry, you got something to drink?"

Jack nodded and shuffled to the kitchen where he filled a glass with water while finishing his pizza slice and came back. Brock was waiting for him in the open space living room already, eyeing the pizza box and a lone gamepad discarded on the floor. Jack wondered briefly if it painted a pathetic picture before deciding he didn't care. He handed the glass to Brock and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Brock took a little sip and cleared his throat.

"Look." He cleared his throat again. "About yesterday." Again.

"You want a cough drop?"

"No." Brock frowned, took a big gulp of water, then set the glass on the coffee table. He took a deep breath and looked up into Jack's eyes. "Jack."

Jack waited for him to continue, his brows travelling up when he didn't. "Yes, that's my name."

Brock looked annoyed at the mockery, casting another look around, but Jack didn't care. He tried to act like he wasn't mad, maybe even convince himself of that, but truth was, he was bitter as all hell. Watching Brock have a hard time as he tried to explain himself was satisfying. 

Then, a startled look crossed Brock's face, and Jack realized he was staring into his bedroom through the open door, and the wastebasket was straight in his line of sight. Frozen in place, he watched Brock walk over to it and pick up one of the cards.

"Yeah, you got me good," he heard himself saying. "I _knew_ they were pranks, but I was still kinda hoping they were genuine. So I kept them. The cupcake was good, too. Ain't that real funny, huh, Brock?"

Brock looked up to stare at him with something weird in his eyes that Jack couldn't quite put his finger on. "They weren't pranks." He nodded to himself, set his shoulders and turned to face Jack fully. "They were genuine." 

"Oh," Jack said, feeling suddenly stupid. "They were friendly valentines then." Which, now that he thought about it, of course they were. He never knew Brock to be malicious; why did he suspect him of pranking him? "Why all the secrecy, then?"

The look on Brock's face remained grave. "Because they weren't friendly."

Jack gaped at him. Brock held his gaze for a while, then sighed, his shoulders sagging.

"Look, I understand if you were hoping it was someone else sending you those. I didn't want to ruin our friendship, that's why I never signed them or said anything. Still, I wanted you to know someone liked you. Sorry you're disappointed it was me." He shrugged and continued before Jack had a chance to respond. "Look, it's fine. Your friendship matters more to me, so if we could just forget all that and move on? That'd be great."

He fixed an expectant gaze on Jack, waiting for him to agree. Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Why do you assume I'm disappointed?"

Brock frowned. "Well, you said you didn’t take part? I just assumed you didn't like anyone that way."

Jack nodded. "Yeah. I never sent you anything." He shot him a meaningful look. "Because you fucking hate those."

Brock stared at him, understanding slowly dawning on his face. "Oh."

"Yeah. Didn't the fact I always wanted to meet after work to ‘take your mind off Valentine's’ make you wonder? Those meetings were my gifts." Jack shrugged. "The kind you liked. Hell, I'm surprised you sent anything to anyone and actually meant it."

"Well, yeah, _you_ like them. You always get a kick out of reading mine and eating my candy."

Jack smiled. "True that."

They stood still, staring at each other, slowly realizing what it all meant. 

"So." Jack was the first one to break the silence. He looked over his shoulder at the discarded gamepad, then back to Brock. "Wanna stay over? Play some games, have some pizza? I'm sure it's still warm." He grinned and touched every slice, swiping his finger through the melted cheese and hot sauce. "Yeah, it's warm."

"You're gross," Brock said, his lips stretching in a grin. "I'm strangely into that."

"You think I'm gross with my fingers?" Jack looked at him suggestively then licked his finger clean. "Wait till you see how gross I can be with my tongue."

He swore Brock's eyes darkened as he watched his finger slide inside his mouth. "Can't wait."

Jack snorted and gestured at the floor. A few seconds later, they were both settled in front of the screen, Brock going through Jack's games. 

"I feel so weird after being so open and vulnerable for a moment there. Now I’m having an unexplainable urge to kick your ass."

Jack grinned. "That's funny, 'cause I feel exactly the same."

An hour later, after they ate the entire pizza and kicked each other's ass multiple times, they moved to the couch where they settled for a movie. Brock made himself at home, stretching his entire body on the couch with his head in Jack's lap, and with his hand in Brock's hair, Jack decided it was pretty nice.

"Hey," he said suddenly, and judging by the grunt he received from Brock, he just prevented him from falling asleep. "You still got those cupcakes?"

"Yeah, why?" 

"Will you bring them to work tomorrow?"

"Why? I thought they were ugly."

"They _are_. Was that your first attempt?"

"Fuck off," Brock growled, then added with defeat, " _Yes_."

"I liked that about them," Jack admitted quietly. "I could tell they were made especially for me, and no one has ever did something so nice for me."

Brock hummed. "No wonder your self-esteem is shit." He patted Jack's thigh. "Don't worry, we're gonna work on that."

Jack smiled at the back of Brock's head. "Looking forward to it."

"Well, _I'm_ looking forward to seeing that gross thing you do with your tongue."

Jack chuckled. "I bet you'll get to see a lot of it."

Brock didn't respond, focusing back on the movie, but a few moments later, he started snoring. Jack covered him with a blanket and rested his head on the pillows propped up against the wall. He knew that in the morning they'd be grumpy and achy, but now, he didn't care. He just enjoyed the weight of Brock's head in his lap and the feeling of his soft hair between his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Clint's singing valentine comes from a little poem by Brenna Copley:
> 
> Kisses Kisses Kisses,  
> Oh, what should I do?  
> All I want is just one Kiss,  
> From a special person like you.


End file.
